Webbing
by Self-san
Summary: AU. Glimpse into the life of a Spock raised on Earth. Friends, family, and finding his way to Jim.
1. Webs

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Star Trek, I'm just doing this for love, not money!

A/N: I decided that it might be easier if all of the oneshots were put together into one cognitive story. Well, please enjoy!

Warnings: AU! Angst! Sadness! Death!

*

**Come In**

"Where are you?" He whispered softly, his eyes closing as if to escape the sights he saw.

The rain fell in a torrent of unparalleled sorrow. It hit him everywhere. His shoulders ached with the force of the raindrops falling like shards of glass. The neat grass bowed before the storm's power, and Spock couldn't blame it. He too wanted to fold in half like a slight flower. But he couldn't.

The murmur of the priest reciting his mother's last rights filled his ears and overflowed. Today he was a cup too full. All he could see from the slits of his tired eyes was the dark wood box that held his mother as she was lowered into the earth.

Sixteen was too young to be alone.

There were only a few beside him at the grave. The few rare friends that his mother held close and the Vulcan man who stood at the back were the only testament that it really hadn't been Amanda against the world. She had had loved ones, friends. Her son hadn't ruined it all for her.

Spock clenched his hands in the deep pockets of his coat and hissed through his teeth as his long nails bit into the flesh of his palm. The sound didn't carry over the rush of the wind, and for that, he was glad. He already didn't like that he looked like shit in front of these people.

He opened his eyes to see the priest's final crossing and watched, heart broken, as the dirt began to cover his mother's box like a wet, uncomfortable blanket. He wondered if he'd get shipped to the Funny Farm if he threw himself down in the hole. He decided that it was likely from the wary look on the priest's face. He bowed his head and blinked his eyes as water fell from his thick bangs. He was soaked to the bone.

When the dirt lay level with the rest of the ground and people began to drift away, Spock stepped forward. He ruffled through his pockets, discarding the gum wrappers and lint, and slowly pulled out his prize.

The box was soggy, but it opened easily enough. He pulled out the wad of toilet paper and unwrapped it slowly. The glass birds felt like ice in his hands as he shoved the box and packing back into his pocket. His numb fingers fumbled as he knelt on the grave, his knees absorbing the chilly mud and grass chunks. With careful precision, he undid the tiny door on the top of the gravestone and slid the birds inside. They were kept safely out of the elements, and in the dark, the blues of their plumage seemed black. He wondered if they would look any less pitiful if it was sunny out.

Adjusting them some, he got them into position and stood, gently closing the door most of the way, but keeping it open a crack. Just in case they wanted out. He stopped himself, his eyes clenching shut and his breath rattling in his chest at the sight of them in there. He felt the tears well up and slide hotly down his cold face.

It would be alright, he chanted over and over.

The mommy bird and the baby bird were safe now. Nothing could hurt them.

He covered his mouth with his trembling hand and stood, turning to the man who had stayed behind with him.

Sarek felt his chest tighten to the point of uncomfortable as the child,

No, he corrected himself, the young man looked at him with eyes that shook him to his soul.

Dark eyes, wide with thick lashes and large circles. They looked black under the cast of the clouds, and he wondered if they weren't really brown. He had always wanted the child to have Amanda's eyes.

His child. He felt his chest get even tighter.

How could he have listened to her? Amanda had told him that she would be fine. He had listened, so cowed by the elders, so unaware of the bond. He had let her go, and in doing so, he had lost his wife, his partner, and his love.

And his child, his mind reminded him sharply. The thought was like glass to his frontal lobe and he almost winced.

His emotions were like a warring sea. Rising and falling, they burned like cold fire; barely restrained under his teachings. He wanted to speak, but could find no words to comfort the one in front of him. He hunched his shoulders and tried to ignore the drop in temperature as the wind rate picked up speed.

What was he going to do?

"You, you're…Sarek, correct?" He asked slowly, forcing the words from his throat as he watched him retreat further into his thick looking coat. The wind picked up but he couldn't feel it, his face was already numb.

He didn't know if he could deal with this. Now, anyway.

He couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he felt…alright. Hole, and warm to his senses. He had met Vulcans before, but this one felt different. He wondered if it was because he had been close to his mother. He felt the sorrow hit him between the eyes like a bat and fought the urge to curl up.

"Yes."

The answer was without infliction and Spock nodded, already having figured as much.

"I assume you received my post."

"I did."

"I'm cold. I'm going to my craft…Would you like a ride to the place you're staying?"

He barely remembered to tack on the polite offering. Mother raised you better than that; his mind scolded him as he moved to shuffle past the older man. He couldn't find it within himself to feel bad about it. Mother was gone, after all.

That's no excuse! His mind screamed at him. Spock sighed and nodded in assent to himself as he walked past the other Vulcan. He moved to accommodate Spock and Spock jerked his head forward.

"It's over here."

Sarek followed him as they walked down the softly sloping hill of the burial ground. His shoulders were slumped and his walk slow. Sarek wonder if he was meditating well. It was…unlikely in the face of such anguish he was feeling, he decided as he watched his feet. He wanted to be certain of the ground before he step-

With a rush of slick grass and wet mud, Spock's feet went flying out from under him. In a frightening rush, he was sliding down the hill. The seat of his pants found resistance and he sat there as the world flew around him. He was now at the bottom of the hill.

The corners of his mouth tugged and as he though about it, his smile widened. He threw his head back and laughed, landing with his back on the ground and the rain hitting his face sharply. He heard Sarek hurry down behind him, on his feet mind, and he couldn't help it; he laughed harder.

His eyes clenched shut and for a moment, the world stopped. Spock always had had a strange sense of humor. His laugh bubbled around the silent hillside and Spock couldn't care. It shook his lean frame and his cheeks and head hurt by the time he stopped, out of breath and green faced. He gasped for breath and smiled wider at the blatant look of concern on the other's face.

His eyes hurt and he rubbed at them with his sleeve as he tried to lever himself up.

Sarek caught his soaking arm and tried not to look more worried. He gently pulled him to his feet and was thankful that he had remembered to wear his gloves.

He felt the weight of relief over his heavy heart and thanked Surak.

His heart had stopped when he had heard his son's squeak of astonishment moments before he went sliding down the incline on his bottom. He had raced down after him, uncaring of mud and such in the face of his ch-…him, being injured. He found him doing the illogical.

Why would he laugh?

He wondered why he had laughed so hard, but attributed it to the fact that he had been in desperate need of it in past days. Spock figured he would ignore it unless Sarek brought it up.

"Well, that was fun!" He exclaimed, adrenaline warring with the want for sleep. He started looting for his vehicle keys.

Spock motioned forward with a bare hand; long fingers covered in mud and stained a dark green color from him catching himself as he fell.

He might as well keep his offer of a ride.

Sarek wasn't looking too great.

**To My Parlor**

Spock was starting to think Vulcan was on one of the lower rungs of hell. It was hot. It was sandy. It was fully of sharp pointy rocks. He fought not to scowl and resisted the temptation of kicking the hunk of red rock by his foot. His light undershirt kept him comfortably cool even as it worked with his jeans to make him a sore thumb in the crowd of chibi-Vulcans.

And no matter what the fuck his artist side said and crooned over, the suns (plural, damnit) needed to be shot from the sky.

He mourned the loss of his nocturnal schedule. His mother had worked night shift as a nurse, and Spock might have gone to high school and gotten straight A+s, but that did not mean that he had to like being up with the sun.

Spock held his breath and counted to cool himself down some. He might never be a Vulcan mystic, but he had been doing meditation since he could read and write and-

He glanced out of the side of his eye and saw the older kids be let out of class. They moved in a mass past him and he kicked his foot up to rest it flat souled on the wall behind him. He started counting backwards and making truth tables mentally.

Sybok had better hurry the hell up, because Spock was seriously considering pulling something stupid and embarrassing with all of those kids watching him like he was part of a petting zoo.

At least the older ones were better at making the glances look like accidents instead of blank faced, wide eyed mooning.

He reached up and tightened his bun self-consciously. His thick black hair would've made any purist Vulcan proud…except that when undone, it fell down to his ass. It certainly had grown in the months since Sarek's living proposal. He ruffled his bangs and relaxed into the wall of the educational facility. He was so glad that he didn't have to be here. Learn here. Do-anything-except-pick-up-his-little-brother here.

He had taken the aptitude tests and they had placed his seventeen year old ass in the fourth year of the Vulcan Science Academy…so…no real school. He designed ships and warp cores for fun and then watched as the other students squawked about them. He almost snorted at the thought of it; like he didn't know how to calculate the maximum velocity of the gravitational spirals in correlation to the intake of fuel and trajectory of the ship.

It was when the halls cleared and Sybok still hadn't appeared that Spock began to worry.

Sybok was the classic Vulcan child, a really good kid, and if he hadn't called or told Spock that he was staying after, then something was up.

Spock's eyes narrowed as he located the identical door of his brother's aquarium and pressed his ear soundlessly to the door.

The keen appendage picked up the faint sound of talking and then,

Spock jerked his head away from the door and grabbed the handle. He swung it open wide and without hesitation, charged in at the one holding his brother by the collar.

A solid crack of his hand and the older boy let go of Sybok, clutching his noise as he yelped.

Spock executed a neat ankle trip and twirled around to face the other two as the older Vulcan student hit the stairs leading into one of the learning bowls and fell in. Spock heard the smack of flesh on metal and ignored it in favor of twisting under the jab at one of his nerves. He did a forearm block and grunted as he felt someone grab the back of his undershirt.

A fist impacted the side of his face and he grunted, falling to the floor boneless only to swivel on his knees and take a leg shot at his attacker. Flipping, he slid away from the majority of the last one's kick at his side. It barely chipped his shoulder and Spock grit his teeth. He could feel the muscle tear from the force of a Vulcan's strength.

He surged to his feet and connected his fist to the boy's diaphragm, hard. He crumpled and Spock broke his nose. His breath was loud in the empty room and he touched his pouting lip to find green blood staining his fingertips. He scowled and probed at the rest of his face.

It hurt like a bitch, and he turned to find Sybok against the wall. His nose was bloody and his hair rumpled. His eyes were wide and his small form trembled. Spock tried to smile while he still could without wincing. It worked and he saw his brother's eyes widen just before he felt the fist in his side.

He coughed harshly and spun with the force, turning him to face his attacker. It was leg-shot guy and Spock growled. He threw himself into a half and tackled the other to the floor. He heard the breath wheeze from the others body as Spock sat on his chest.

With a neat roll from his attacker, Spock was on the bottom. Spock rolled them again and his yell joined the others under him as they tipped sideways into a bowl. Spock grunted as he tumbled over and over and landed with the heavier student on top of him. He felt the sickening crack of his finger break as he stopped the fist to his nose. Spock yelled and surged upwards, his legs tangling in the others as he held him off and strove to fight him at the same time. His fist got him in the nose.

They both froze when they heard, "What is the meaning of this." from above them in the loud voice of a Vulcan instructor.

Spock's eyes met the darker ones below him and he smirked, his face already hurting with the strain.

He scrambled off the other boy's lap and across the bowl as fast as he could.

The other took the side opposite to him and scowled darkly towards him.

The teachers hauled there asses out and laid one on them about responsibility and setting examples and shame. Spock was deadpanned as he was drug back out into the hall and set on a bench with the stern warning of don't move, we're calling the Ambassador from a stern faced Vulcan with a tight bun and a no-nonsense look about her.

Leg-shot as he was affectionately calling him was sat beside him with the same warning. Spock looked over and frowned when he saw Sybok be led off and the other two boys taken away to another room.

"Why did you hit me?" The tone was measured and frosty as Spock looked over to the boy who had punched him in the side and who he had gotten in the nose.

"Why were you beating on my younger brother?" Spock asked, mirrored frost formed between them.

"I was trying to stop them."

Spock looked skeptical.

"That wasn't what it looked like."

"You were highly illogical just charging in there like a mad seleak." The boy said, distain almost dripping as he glared. The look was diminished by his hand cupped under his nose to keep the grassy blood from the floor.

Spock couldn't help but snort as he held out his unbroken hand.

"I apologize if I was wrong. I'm Spock."

The other looked at it warily before taking it with a bruised hand.

"…Your apology is…sufficient. I am Stonn."

"Nice to meet you. You throw one hell of a punch." Spock grinned sardonically and rose and eyebrow as he touched his already tensing side.

"So you say." Stonn snipped back, his deep voice cold as he leaned back over above his cupped hand and frowned.

Spock couldn't help it; he laughed.

And as Stonn looked bewildered and his father walked down the hall, Spock thought that it was a beautiful start to their relationship. Broken fingers and all.

**Said the Spider**

Spock hissed quietly through his teeth as he concentrated on the canvas in front of him. It was almost done.

He frowned and leaned over to dip his brush into his palate. He carefully mixed the correct color he required and then leaned back to his piece and gently created his shadow.

He tapped the wooden end of his paintbrush to his lips in a rapid repetition before he levered himself carefully up to his feet. He set his paintbrush down and stepped backwards and looked at his art.

He knees hurt from sitting cross-legged so long, but what he was concerned over was-

"Spock?"

He yelped, spinning around quickly. His feet tangled and he fell backwards- only to have his arm caught by his surprise…r. Stonn.

He scowled as he stepped out of the hold the other Vulcan had on his arm, brushing his hands on his pants self-consciously. He was covered in art.

The sun shone on his back from over the house, and Stonn raised a hand to shield his eyes.

"What's up?" Spock asked, pointedly looking at the other.

Stonn cocked an eyebrow at him, and Spock cocked one back. He hated that expression that so many others seemed to wear.

"Is this not the appointed time in which we agreed to confer?"

Spock looked at his watched, and blanched, looking up to stare at his friend with horror.

"Man, I though I said a reasonable time! It's only 7:00!"

Stonn's head tilted questioningly.

"If I hadn't been unable to sleep, I would've been sleeping till noon." Spock explained, taking glee from seeing Stonn's eyes widen incredulously.

"Surely not." Stonn stated, stunned.

"Surely so." Spock mimicked, smile stretching his face.

Stonn shook his head wonderingly, unable to believe that his normally studious, hardworking friend would ever even consider sleeping so late. Wasting so much time that he could use for more constructive things…like learning.

Then again, Stonn considered, looking at the messy Spock, his friend _had_ been raised by a human…

"Well," Spock sighed, "We might as well start. Why don't you come in."

He resigned as he packed up his painting supplies in their bucket, setting the still wet canvas on top to serve as an impromptu lid.

He jerked his head to let Stonn ahead of him, and in they went.

"Why don't you head into the kitchen. I'll run upstairs and grab my things."

Leaving his friend, Spock ran up the stairs and quickly put his things away, laying his wet piece atop his neat bed. He grabbed his book bag and hurtled himself back down the stairs, almost tripping as he rounded the sharp corner and went into the kitchen. His hair flew around him in a wave, and he impatiently pushed it behind his ears as he plopped his stuff down on the countertop and scrambled onto a barstool.

Stonn was sitting on the other side of the island, his hands neatly folded in his lap and his clothing pristine.

It reminded Spock that he must look like a mess.

Paint stained his hands and colored under his fingernails, his pants were his long loved, heavily holed paint pants, and he was just wearing a ratty undershirt that was almost too small for him.

Certainly NOT the best of pictures.

He tried to soundly ignore it as he dug out his advanced Physics When Applied to Mechanics book and placed it between himself and Stonn. Spock shifted, folding his bare feet beneath himself and sitting on his knees as he leaned across the table to point out the lesson to Stonn.

He would've much preferred to continue painting, or hell, even reading, but since the start of their tentative friendship, and Stonn had learned the position the younger boy had in the Academy, Spock had agreed to feed Stonn's ever loving obsession of Physics and…Mechanics. Preferably both…mixed together…and as much as possible.

Spock had put his foot down on the every two day thing that Stonn had requested at first. Spock was busy with the Academy, and Stonn DID have school to complete, so they had compromised on every Wednesday and Saturday. Meeting at Spock's, eating, studying, and Spock preparing his older friend on the final examinations that Stonn would have.

It was at times like this though, that Spock was most acutely aware of what he had lost…and gained.

Mentally shaking himself, Spock licked his lips and leaned over further, letting the photographic memory he had parade around for Stonn the lessons Spock was taking, and the work he was doing. Overall, Spock decided as he pointed out the engine equations on the layout for the new engine he was helping to create, it was just another day on Vulcan.

**To**

From the beginning, it had always been just the two of them. Mom and Spock. Amanda and Son. They had never had a man to fill the position of father to Spock, but he really didn't care. As long as he had his mother, he would be fine. They would be fine.

Mom was a nurse. RN. She traveled, taking Spock with her when she couldn't book a hotel immediately. Spock saw a lot of waiting rooms, crying families, and coloring books. He carried change only in his small pockets back then as he walked around to eat out of snack machines. They had much gas-station food back then.

Spock swore he would never touch another veggie-dog again after that time.

From a young age, he was easily entertained with newspaper, pens, and coloring books. Really, it was the art. Drawing, coloring, sculpting. It was one of the reasons he'd been so excited when they had settled into a small town with a big hospital that paid well. He finally got to go to school.

Art class became his haven where he honed his skills and perfected his techniques. Even when the other kids teased him, then ignored him, he always had his art, and Mrs. Waddle, to fall back on. He took college classes and did art for the rest of the day that he had at school.

It really hadn't been his fault that he was so smart. All he and his mother had had for reading material had been a dictionary and mother's school padds.

He'd grown up with Webster being his best friend.

But then, then it had changed.

He had entered high school, and found his corner of a place in the art room beside a senior girl with dark eyes. They had hit it off, and Spock had gotten one of his first human friends.

He knew now, that their friendship had never meant to last.

She had already planned to kill herself after graduation. Spock was an unexpected light in the otherwise dark world for her. He had been her friend, but in the end, she had already had it all worked out.

Spock found her with her brains painting the wall behind her bed, the 9mm antique Beretta fallen to the floor with a brightly wrapped birthday present for him.

He still had the unopened gift, the letter of goodbye, and the memory of her damn funeral to stay in his mind for the rest of his life.

During the funeral, he had sent her off with an inside joke that had gotten him kicked out of the funeral home by her parents and had ended up coming to her grave later that night with a bottle of booze and a pack of cigarettes.

He lit her cold stone a cig, opened the bottle, and poured it on the ground for her to have in her coffin. Her closed coffin because she had blown her brain out. The stupid bitch.

It had been more than a year later, with multiple trips to the therapist, before he had started to leave his pain behind.

He had hid away all of his art work from that time of mourning, except for the ink print of her face, smiling, happy. He kept the linoleum and proofs, and the almost empty bottle of ink on his dresser where he could always look and remember that, before she had died, she had been happy…if only once.

Then the worst had happened.

A drunk driver had hit his mother on her way home from work.

He had been so angry that night, so upset. She had said that she would be there, for his Academic Team game, and had never shown up. His team had won, but his mother had died.

He didn't find out until the after party and had turned on his phone.

The hospital had been trying to call him.

He answered the strange number.

The woman's voice had come on.

Spock couldn't really remember what had happened next except that he had got to the hospital in one piece without his phone and with a scrapped knee.

He had identified the body.

He had cried.

He had written out the messages from her address book for the funeral.

It was just close, if not old, friends until he had found the area code for contacting Vulcan. He was smart. He knew that the man showing up would likely be his father.

He had been teased all through school about being a bastard.

He had planned the funeral.

Something small, nice, she would've liked it.

He gave her the glass birds that she had bought for him from a flea-market in Utah.

But now, Spock came to with a quick snap when he felt as someone laid a blanket over his shoulders. He blinked open his tired eyes at the feeling of a thermometer under his tongue and groaned at the bleary picture of Sarek standing over him.

Right. He was on Vulcan now.

Shit, he was supposed to present in class today.

He raised a hand to grab the stick under his tongue, but a hand closed over his wrist and laid the leaden thing back down. Spock found he didn't have the strength to pick it back up again.

"Rest, Spock." Sarek's deep voice washed over him in a warm wave, and Spock could feel the lightest, unobtrusive brush of compulsion as it touched his mind. Sick as he was, he still fought it.

"No." He didn't recognize his own voice. He just didn't want to go back. He didn't want to think about her, about earth. He wanted to stay away from them. Even now, he felt the tears well up and slide down his cheeks at the thought of his mother's funeral.

And here he had thought he had no more tears to cry.

His hand caught his fathers in a tight grip, and he felt Sarek's other hesitantly run through Spock's messy hair with a soothing gesture. Spock felt his body start to fail with exhaustion and tried to struggle back awake.

"_Sleep easy, son, for I shall protect you." _

He thought he heard Sarek whisper to him in Vulcan, but with his feverish state, he would never be sure.

He went to sleep.

**The Fly**

Spock folded his hands behind his back in his customary pose and looked out of the view screen to the testing area below. He was almost smiling by the time he noticed the shock of blonde hair that stood by the "captain's chair." That made the smile turn into a smirk.

So this was the boy who had could hack his system, eh? Well, this was going to be…fun.

He stepped back to the monitoring screen and watched quietly as the simulation commenced. He followed the data track with his eyes and quickly froze the screens of the hack in progress, saving them to his personal files.

He wanted to applaud the brilliantly subtle changes in the frames that, had he not been looking at it, no one would ever see.

He had designed the Kobayashi Maru to be the perfect test for up and coming command officers. The frontal purpose was to experience fear; fear in the face of certain death, the captain would maintain control of himself and his crew.

But he had also planned it out to be taken more than once, something few recognized.

The moment The Board had come to him, just fresh out of the Star Fleet Academy with his focus being bimolecular mutations, and asked him if he could design a test for the slim students that where in the challenging Command Path, he had jumped on it with no hesitation.

Throughout school he had been known for his technological prowess, and who would expect any different? He had been in the Vulcan Science Academy for his teenaged years. So, it wasn't a shock for The Board to use him as they did. He had gotten to work immediately between his teaching of the xenolinguistics class and hand to had combat teaching.

Within a year, he had the Kobayashi Maru.

He even rated the people in his head as he went over the footage of cadets taking the test, as per The Boards request. They only wanted the best of the best brought before them, and Spock could understand that.

His ratings were simple.

Take it once and walk away defeated, you weren't fit for command.

Take it once and walk away contemplating, you had potential to be good in command.

Take it twice and walk away contemplating it even more, you had GREAT potential to be good in command.

The few in the second category and all in the third where given to The Board for their look over.

No one had yet come back to take it three times.

Except Cadet Kirk.

That was something that had shocked, and inordinately pleased him. Human or not, people were so afraid of failing that they didn't try anymore, it seemed.

Spock might have known the feeling had he not put up with ruining countless strands of DNA, circuit boards blowing up in his face, and having to laugh at himself and his fellow Vulcan students in the Vulcan Academy when everyone needed to lighten up.

(The people in Star Fleet would surely be shocked to find that to Vulcans, Spock was often the class clown.)

Spock had yet to look up the cadet's file, wanting to be surprised with each encounter but since he had discovered Kirk's digital fingerprints all over the SIM, Spock had known.

Cadet Kirk was either going to kill his crew in a ball of fiery death…

Or he was going to be one of the best to ever serve in Star Fleet.

Spock dearly hoped it was the second one.

Watching as the hack hit climax, Spock was unsurprised to have the lights go out as the program rerouted. They came back on after a spare second.

The other technicians were running like chicken's with their heads cut off as Spock stood straighter and walked back to the viewing window, an almost unnoticeable skip in his step.

Looking down on the blonde with a grin, he unfolded his hands and tucked them into his pockets.

He couldn't wait to meet Kirk.

It was bound to be…interesting.


	2. Shinning Silver

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek 2009.

A/N: Well…you can blame/thank releaa for this chapter. They left me this insanely long, insanely awesome review, and inspired me to write more.

releaa- this is for you, and feel free to contact me; I'd love to discuss. You're idea with a short-haired Snape…is interesting. Thanks for the review!

*

Spock groaned as he backtracked to pick up the trashcan he tripped over. His shoulder length hair flew into his eyes and he brushed it back impatiently as he hurried down the concrete walkway. Neat Star Fleet mandated grass was crushed under his fast heels as he flew across the yard. He was late.

Someone was calling a meeting. All students and faculty were to report to the auditorium immediately. Spock wondered what was going on. Surely no student or teacher could have done something stupid enough to be called before the Board with such short notice.

Spock caught the tail end of the crowd as it entered the spacious room and he was quick to get to his seat. His neatly pressed black uniform marked him for a teacher, and students were rapidly throwing up salutes as he passed.

'_This is why instructors are supposed to arrive FIRST.'_ Spock thought, annoyed at himself for oversleeping. But oh, how he loved his sleep.

Nodding politely to those students, he cleared his throat quietly as he sunk into his seat.

He wished he could risk pulling up his hair, but he knew that it would both draw more attention to him as it was and it would be highly embarrassing to be caught with imperfections in the pull up.

He settled for tucking it carefully behind his sensitive ears and ignoring the stares of his fellow instructors as they looked at him as if he had done something blasphemous for acting his human half. He resisted the urge to give them the finger. But just barely. He gave them cold looks to appease his crazed humanity. It didn't really work but, hey, he wasn't perfect.

He closed his eyes as the Board began to speak. They rattled on for some time before they came to the point; Spock's eyes snapped open as he cursed mentally in Vulcan.

James T. Kirk was being called to the stand.

And judging from his posture, he didn't know what was going on. But Spock…now he had an idea.

He just wished with everything he had that it wasn't-

Fuck.

The Head of the Board listed the offenses Kirk had and cheating was one of them.

Damnit, Darn it, Shit.

Spock's fingers dug into the arms of his seat and he prepared to rise. He was stopped by Kirk calling his accuser to the stand.

Smart boy, Spock commented internally as he eased somewhat. He knew though that he'd be up there, sooner or later.

And as one of the tight-assed assistants that Spock had for the Kobayashi Maru rose with frigid arrogance, Spock felt his lips thin with anger.

How dare that asshole do this on Spock's simulation?!

Spock glared and hopped the asshole lighted on fire.

His hope failed him, and as the thin, nasally tone of the assistant began telling off Kirk for his cheating, Spock stood. He would not stand for this.

He had passed Kirk, damnit, and Kirk was going to stay passed for his brilliant thinking and potential if nothing else.

He walked down the steps with a feline grace that he never often used. Anger brought out his Vulcan side. Always had…well, always had after he had beaten the shit out of Stonn that first time on false assumptions. Never let it be said that Spock wasn't a fast learner.

It was satisfying in a way that Spock didn't let show to see the assistant look back to see him coming. The man narrowed his eyes at Spock and Spock wanted to shove his fist down the man's throat.

Bringing one of the most brilliant men Spock had ever seen up on charges. He would live to regret crossing Spock.

That was…most assured. Or so Sybok would have said had he been there to see the look on Spock's face.

Stepping down at last he stood between the two podiums and looked to the surprised faces of the board.

"I fear that there has been a mistake."

"There has been no mistake! Cadet Kirk cheated on the Kobayashi Maru, I saw the readouts myself!"

Spock turned his head to look at the man standing to his left and glared.

Full out Vulcan bitch-slap, asshole.

The man didn't back down though.

Fool.

"I see this is the time to also say that you yourself failed to report his cheating, Commander." The man said, trying and failing to glare back into Spock's all consuming dark eyes.

"Commander Spock, indeed. Commander Lysin has a point." Archer said, cutting in. Spock turned his eyes to the Board and took an unnoticeable deep breath, his mind was scrambling for something to say for but a microsecond before it all lay out before him.

"Gentlemen, I fail to see why we are here. Cadet Kirk passed." Spock said simply.

"He cheated!" The Ly-whatever the hell his name was almost screeched back.

He hurt Spock's ears with his volume and it was the third strike.

"Please, enlighten me as to what exactly he did." Spock said civilly to the man.

"He hacked you're system to create a sub-root to achieve a parameter un-allowed for the Kobayashi Maru!" The man said, as if Spock was a fool for even asking.

Spock nodded as if he hadn't known. He turned to Kirk and was almost blown away by the brilliant blue that bore into him with calculating depths.

"And you, Cadet Kirk, do you believe in no-win scenarios?" He asked.

"No sir, I do not."

"And is it true that you are also a member of the Command Program."

"Yes sir, it is."

Spock opened his mouth to speak again and was interrupted by the annoying voice of his opponent. He decided then that Lysin's life would be a living hell. Spock would make it happen.

"I fail to see how showing this information has anything to do with-"

"It has everything to do with it!" Spock snapped back, thoroughly aggravated. What an annoying little worm Lysin was proving to be. His long hair swung into his face and he ignored the inky strands.

"Please, Commander Spock, continue." Archer said, stepping in.

"When the Board came to me asking me to create a program that would test the Command Cadets, I asked myself what would be crucial for a Commanding Officer. Perseverance? Intelligence? A will to win? What?"

Spock paused, locking eyes with all of the Board.

"I then realized the truth; all of those things are crucial for a Commanding Officer to have. Cadet Kirk hacked my system. Intelligence. He took my admittedly ego-crushing test _three times._ Perseverance. He came back again and again, continuing to fail. He was doing whatever it took to win. And he did. He beat my unbeatable test. His has what it takes to be a Commanding Officer. And in my opinion, sirs, he has what it takes to be a great Captain one day."

"Now, Commander Lysin brings up the point of cheating. Did Cadet Kirk cheat? The answer is yes. Should he be punished for doing what I've wanted cadets to do for the past years? No." Near the end, Spock's voice echoed throughout the stunned silence of the room. It was calm, clear, and completely sure of one's self.

"Is that all, Commander Spock?" Archer asked with an amused glint in his eye. He shuffled through the papers sitting in front of him.

"Yes sirs." Spock said.

"Good. The charges towards Cadet Kirk will be dropped in light of true instructor and moderator defense. Commander Lysin, Commander Spock." Archer nodded to them and moved to stand.

Spock breathed a sigh of relief that was cut short by the freezing of Archer as a messenger whispered in his ear.

His eyes widened at the announcement of Vulcan's distress and he would have been one of the first out the door had Lysin not grabbed his arm.

He turned slowly and glanced in disgust at the anger visage of his "opponent."

"Yes?" He asked, painfully slow.

"You embarrassed me in front of everyone! Why did you defend Kirk?!"

"You embarrassed yourself. Kirk was right, you where wrong. Get. Over. It." Spock hissed, easily taking his arm back and spinning on his heel. He exited the auditorium without looking back.

He had a planet to save.

.

The ship bay was obscenely crowed as Spock weaved his lithe frame through the hot press of bodies. Blue skin, green skin, pink skin, pale skin; they passed by him in a twirling blur as he made his way to a check station.

He entered his pass and id and was unsurprised to see his name checked for the Enterprise. The new silver lady of the Fleet.

Normally, he would have at least smirked, but his mind was a whirl with thoughts of Vulcan.

What could possibly be blocking the communication channels?

His rapid mind went through scenario after scenario as he made his way through the crowd of Star Fleet personnel and to his shuttle. He caught sight of one of his best students and nodded at her wave. Uhura was a well known face for Spock, who had had her since her first year in the Academy. He had only been…20, was it? Dates had little importance to him except to be used to make his family uncomfortable for their birthdays.

Spock shook his head as he walked through a plum of steam. He moved briefly to the side, out of the way of the stream of people. He bent over, flipping his hair and gathering it in a quick ponytail. His slender fingers deftly smoothed the top and tightened the band holding the mass of thick black hair out of his way. When done, he grabbed the padd that he held between his knees and rejoined the crowd.

He didn't notice the pair of contemplating blues of one Jim Kirk watching him walk away.

It was probably better that way.

.

When the Romulan started talking, Spock didn't really know what to think.

Kirk was beside him, sans ruined yellow shirt, and was looking just as…wondering as Spock himself.

His mind, ever sharp, ever Vulcan, immediately started sorting through possibilities. With those possibilities came questions.

Could this Romulan be from the future? How could that be possible, how did this relate to a lightening storm in space that had occurred a day ago in correlation to the one that harbored James T. Kirk into the world? What had Spock done to impress himself in such a distasteful way on the Romulan?

Question after question flowed through his mind as he told the Romulan- Nero the truth.

He didn't know who he was.

That probably wasn't the thing to say to a psychotic alien who had the bigger ship.

.

Uhura was harboring feelings for him.

He wanted to almost gag.

Sex. Touching. Ick.

He didn't though. Both out of respect for her and for her feelings. She was a good student, and undoubtedly a remarkable woman. He just…didn't feel the way she did.

Pulling her into his arms for a fierce hug, he told her so with pain in his voice.

Pulling back, she gave him a sad smile and told him she had expected as much.

Watching her walk away was probably one of the hardest things he ever did.

.

He ran.

Not for his life, but for the life of his family.

The hot wind of Vulcan embraced him like a long lost lover as he scaled the mountain. It tore his hair free and pressed his blue shirt to his chest. Running into the decidedly cooler cavern of the elders, he told them in hurried words what had happened. His boots made not sound in the wake of the cavern starting to collapse.

His eyes immediately found the space of his missing brother, and as he ran, his father at his side, he demanded to know of his location. He felt like he was going to choke until his father spoke, his deep voice as calm as ever.

His father was quick to reassure him that Sybok was off planet. Where, he didn't know.

Spock's mind stuck on 'off planet.' He did something then that he hadn't done in a long time. He thanked God.

Spock couldn't even breathe a sigh of relief before they were beamed up.

.

'_When Kirk wanted something, Kirk got it.'_ Spock though, dazed.

Bad enough that Pike's first in command threw Kirk off the ship in a fit of rage that Spock couldn't understand, but then the asshole had to go die on them and leave Spock in charge.

Spock!

What the hell had he ever done to deserve a righteously enraged Kirk on his ass? And on top of that, what the hell was the First thinking putting Kirk on an uninhabitable planet? That was against protocol!

His eyes narrowed as he thought about the asshole Pike had left in command. Pike was a good man, but his replacement could use a hell of a lot of work before he tried to order Spock around while he was at his own station.

What the fuck did the dip wad even know about the drag of the ship when applied to the warp theorem and then-

Spock took a deep breath and ran a hand through his loose hair. He really needed to find another ponytail. Really. And did he care that he was avoiding his own thoughts? No, not really.

And from the look his father was giving him, he knew that the man was thinking about Spock with his ass-long hair getting caught in the door.

Well, Spock could put up with that, if it took Sarek's mind even a little bit off the death of their planet.

At that, his thought's turned somber. His head still pounded with the screams of billions of Vulcan lives being wiped out of existence. Children, adults, men, women, it didn't matter.

Their anguished screams of death reached his mind and he wanted to curl up and cry.

They had been so, so afraid.

Spock knew that the other Vulcan's would be feeling what he was feeling, but he couldn't help but hate the fact that while he had shields, they were nowhere near Vulcan Standards.

His mind went dark with the thought of Stonn.

His friend hadn't made it off planet.

His fearful screams reached Spock first, before all others. Spock felt Stonn's flame like it was his own, and so he felt his own death at the hands of the Romulan.

Nero.

His mind hissed with rage, his fingers trembling as he curled his hands into fists and stood from his seat in the captain's chair.

Kirk could have it.

He was stronger than Spock was.

Spock took responsibility for the deaths that where his due, but Kirk could have the rest.

And as Spock surrendered the helm of the Enterprise without a fight to a Kirk that looked like his eyes were about to pop out, he couldn't help but wonder how the hell Kirk had gotten back aboard with the ship transwarp. And how he could be so strong to deal with the deaths of millions.

But, then again, Spock had always seen himself as weak.

.

Earth had been saved.

Kirk had done it.

Spock had no words for the man that he had fought beside.

Kirk was…well.

Kirk was Kirk.

And Kirk was hurt.

Holding his arms down, he fought with the blonde as a doctor, McCoy, worked on Kirk's back.

Claw marks from the planet Delta Vega decorated his back like a gruesome piece of art. And as the man screamed, he was allergic to any of the pain medicine they had, Spock couldn't help but wonder what the scene would look like as a painting.

His mind supplied a bitter idea of Vulcan pulling in on itself for the background.

It would surely be a hit.

Spock grit his teeth as brown muscled arms squeezed his ribs, hard.

The position they were in, for Spock to hold onto Kirk, was fairly precarious. And had Spock not been forced to sit in the position of his legs being tucked under him and than sat upon numerous times during his teen years, his legs would probably have been in agony.

He refused to think of the friend that had mad him sit so.

Tensing his muscles as the arms squeezed him again, he ran his hands through Kirk's hair. Over and over and over again. A hum escaped his lips as another pained scream ripped from Kirk and the man buried his face in Spock's lap. The hum turned into something soft, something old. Something he hadn't sung since he sat beside his mother's cold, dead body.

It was a lullaby. It was fairly simple. Spock actually started to sing softly as he pressed down hard on Kirk's shoulders as the man writhed.

McCoy was still busy cleaning his back. Apparently, the monster that shredded Kirk's back was poisonous. Wonderful.

Spock's hands were steadily getting slicker as blood from Kirk's back dripped hotly onto his green skin. And every time Kirk moaned as McCoy walked to get more of whatever he needed, giving them a much grateful break, Spock carded the man's soft hair.

He bowed his head when Kirk slumped, pressing his cheek into the man's head and singing. He repeated the song maybe twenty times before McCoy was done and they had to set Kirk's ribs and other injuries.

He had red blood on one side of his face, all over his hands, and tears on his pants. Looking into the mirror he could only think of one thing.

'What a fucking nightmare,' Spock though.

He ran a hand though his crunchy hair and winced at the growing bruise on his cheek.

'What a fucking mess.'

.

It took them almost two weeks to reach Earth again without their warp engines.

In that time Spock did not sleep.

He meditated.

Crapily.

It was starting to show.

But he had given Kirk his bed, the injured man had none of his own, and so…he stayed awake.

Resting at intervals of time, he was falling asleep seated at his station by the time they were half-way past Mars.

Two days left till Earth.

Two days left sleepless.

Or, it would have been, had his eyes not roll into his scull as he passed out dead in the middle of the hallway.

.

"I'm going to fucking kill you if you do not. Stop. Touching. Me!" Spock snarled as he was awoken rudely by a continual finger in his side. He jerked his head up and glared at the bruised face of Kirk.

.

He was tired.

Groaning, he let his head flop back down onto the pillow as a hand rose to rub at his eyes.

He mopped at the side of his face when he realized he had been drooling.

Gross.

Sitting up slowly, he closed his eyes to the spinning world and focused on waking up.

His body cried for more sleep, but he silenced it with ease born of days without.

"What?!" He growled as he opened his eyes to see Kirk staring at him, amusement pained on his injured face.

"Bones had me wake you up, said something about your body forcing a coma. We're almost to Earth, by the way." Kirk said negligently as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest.

"Well, that's just sunshine and daisies Kirk. What the hell can I do for you?" Spock asked sarcasm heavily laid on his weary voice.

"You're not a morning person." Kirk pointed out the obvious.

Spock narrowed his dark eyes at the blossoming smile the man wore.

"What gave you that idea?" Spock asked.

"Oh, it had to be the wonderful personality I'm seeing right now. I didn't know that Vulcan's cursed."

Spock snorted as he stood, his dark undershirt forming to his lean chest when he stretched.

"Half Vulcan's do, I'd suppose." He said as he scratched at his head.

His eyes hurt. And his ear was sore.

He briefly touched his cartilage piercing before he made himself leave it alone.

Sleeping with it in could be such a bitch.

He yawned, covering his mouth with a hand before he blinked his eyes more and stared at Kirk.

Who was still sitting.

Asshole.

Spock was feeling uncharitable at that moment and as he walked towards the bathroom to clean up, he tried to stop thinking.

About Kirk, about Vulcan, about his pain, everything.

Peace.

It lasted only a second before he heard Kirk call out.

"I didn't know they pierced their ears either!"

Spock threw a smirk over his shoulder at the blond man sitting beside his bed.

"Well, let's keep that our secret James T. Kirk."

"I prefer Jim!" He said right before Spock closed the door.

It made Spock laugh.

"I know!"


	3. In the Light

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, and am not receiving anything of monetary value from writing this story.

A/N: So…I'm back! School's been a little rough. I'm at the end of my season and just starting a musical. Ha. Me, in a musical.

But, anyway, I do plan to continue my stories, for those of you who are wondering; it'll just take a little while.

And now is the time that I tell you how I fucked up my laptop, the only thing I write on. Thankfully I saved everything to a flash a day before the crash. And, now I am on one of my mother's older one. Which, actually, has a hell of a lot better Word than mine had. So, I've been a bit busy; but still, feel free to chat me up! I'd love to hear what you think.

*

"What do you want me to do, Father? Stay by your side? Help you with New Vulcan?"

Spock asked, frustrated beyond belief. His father wasn't listening to him, and hadn't been for the hours that they had spent in Spock's quarters.

"Yes." Sarek said simply, unwilling to back down from his hopes. Spock, the brightest Vulcan of his age, helping rebuild Vulcan; it would be wondrous. And Spock was so good with children. Children that had just lost everything. That needed someone. Someone they could trust.

But, above all else, Sarek had long sworn to be truthful to himself. And he knew that Spock wouldn't agree, couldn't agree. The part of him that still mourned the absence of Sybok found great comfort in imagining Spock by his side. Was he being fair? No. And he knew that he would lose this battle. Lose this war on Spock's abilities. Spock wasn't able to live among Vulcans without losing his happiness. And how Spock had long warred for it. He deserved to be happy, and as a father Sarek could see that; could want it above all things…

But he was lonely. So very lonely. He had no other children, no other work. All he had left were his hopes. And Spock couldn't help that. Couldn't change it.

"I can't dad. I just, I can't. Not now." It hurt to say, to admit to such a painful weakness. But he was strong; he always had been. And now, with his head held high, Spock told his father the truth.

Praying that Sarek could read between the lines and see his hurt was too much to ask for, and after so long with passive arguing, Sarek's emotions got the better of him.

"Now? Now that you're in Star Fleet? Now that you are a moderately high ranking officer? What is it, Spock, that so holds you to your superficial position and highly illogical illusion of grandeur? You used not to be so rash and un-" Sarek was grasping at straws, and they slipped like gossamer strands through his grasping, desperate, fingers.

Now Spock was angry. His mind instantly turned to the painful, lonely memories of his time in the Academy as a cadet. All the solemn hours of studying. Everything. It moved through his mind so fast that he didn't even hear himself speak until he heard his father's gasp.

"Don't you dare, Sarek. I worked for what I have. I am the first officer of the Enterprise as of this morn." The accidental telling of his new promotion slipped through his lips like smooth velvet. Wrapped in softness; not hiding the bite of angry steel.

"You were…promoted." Sarek stared, shocked at his son. Spock had never shown any ambition to the high steps of Star Fleet. He felt his entire hopes crush to dust like the red sands of his home gone.

"Yes. Indeed, my seemingly grand illusion of my duties is…rather larger than you first presumed, eh?" Spock crossed his arms and leaned further into the protruding lip of his kitchenette counter. His cheeks burned green with anger and his hair was flicked out of his face with a rapid hand. He stared at his father and saw what he hadn't quiet seen before.

His father was old. And tired.

Sarek to a hesitant step forward, hands tugging his robes. "Indeed. Spock, I-"

Spock wilted like a dead flower, slumping, he groaned and rubbed at his eyes.

Now, his father saw what he hadn't seen. He saw the pain, the anguish in his child's eyes and he felt the urge to chase it away. He remembered then that Spock lacked much of any proper shielding. And like all other things, Spock was powerful when he wanted to be.

Sarek felt horror paint his heart and soul at the thought of his son enduring the death cries of their people. Close now, he reached out a hand, laying it heavily on Spock's slumped shoulders. His other came up to brush back his boy's curtain of dark hair.

"Don't. We, shit. Fuck. Damn. We've just suffered an enormous tragedy and on the eve of it, we bicker with each other like small children. God, Father, we are both mourning. We shouldn't be discussing anything of any importance in such a light. It is-"

Spock protested to his father's comforting touch, but didn't move away from it. He talked to the tiled floor. His face was brought back up by his father's fingers on his face.

"Illogical." Sarek said gently, tilting Spock's face up. His son had nothing to be asham- _they_ had nothing to be ashamed about. Emotions ran deeply in their race. They merely didn't show them, and subsequently, acted on them differently.

"Indeed." Spock said weakly, managing a small, tired smile.

"You still have your piercing." Sarek noted with some surprise when he tucked a smooth lock of hair behind one of Spock's oh-so-Vulcan ears.

"Yes, I do." Spock to the chance for what it was and changed the subject. Anywhere away from their previous conversation would be…great.

"I am…tired father." He said, moving carefully out of his father's hold. Sarek let him go, allowing Spock to lead him to the door. His dark robes made quiet swishes against the hard floor.

Standing at the door, Spock turned, asking uncertainly, "Shall I see you tomorrow?"

Sarek nodded.

"Of course." He would look forward to it.

Spock motioned him out and Sarek gracefully went. Standing in the hall, he heard the door to his son's room begin to close and a feeling; not unlike the one he had gotten the first time he laid eyes on his human wife, flowed through him. It filled him and lifted him high and he spoke without turning.

"Spock." He could barely hear himself over the singing in his soul.

Spock re-opened the door, staring quizzically out.

"Yes father?" He asked, wondering what was going on. His father sounded strange. And since when had Sarek talked to him with his back turned?

"They would be proud of you."

And with that, Sarek walked down the hall and disappeared from view.

*

Spock chocked on his breath as it came faster and faster. The tears ran hot down his face and he curled over more, as his sobbing got harder.

It tore from him everything; his sorrow did. It took away all thoughts and let him mourn freely, without regrets.

He cried for the deaths of the Vulcans, he cried for the passing of Stonn, and he cried for Jim Kirk who would never do so himself. He cried for his mother.

But mostly, he cried for himself.

To heal him.

To help him.

When the tears ran slowly and he felt so dehydrated that he could pass out, he stood shakily from his seat in his bathroom. He laughed softly at the vision of his matted hair and green-shoot eyes. His skin and veins stood in such strong relief that he looked…alien.

He laughed again at that thought and hobbled from his bathroom.

In the kitchen he drank great gulps of water to quench his sudden thirst and his blinked his sore eyes at the time of the day.

He had been crying for nearly four hours.

He shook his head and sighed, picking cautiously at his sweaty shirt.

He snorted and said fuck it. Exhaustion pulled at his slim limbs like the claws of a hungry selak. Spock wasn't fighting it.

Within a few steps and a short fall he was sucked into his mattress and was fast asleep.

He didn't think about Vulcan, he didn't think about work. He slept. Boots over the edge knocked out slumber.

And he was at peace.

*

Weeks passed.

He saw his father off to the new colony. He did paperwork, wrote recommendations, and generally worked his ass off covering for now dead instructors.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprising, James Kirk was right along side of him. Helping, instructing, tutoring, and tackling anything and everything that came his way with an enthusiasm that made Spock feel that he had been right all along in his assessment of the man.

Despite what he had told his father, though, he had yet to answer to the request placed for him as the First Officer of the Enterprise.

He didn't think it odd in this case. Kirk's actions were still being reviewed by the Board.

Komack was still pitching a fit about him, Archer was pleased, and Spock was hurriedly sending in as many reports on his thoughts on the matter that he had time to.

There was no such thing as free time and Spock more often than not found himself stretched so thin that he felt like he was made of air.

That was not to say that he wasn't still one of the most effective people on campus, just that he was finding sleep in the form of tens of minutes naps and sparse, hardly efficient mediations.

Soon enough however, the work began to dwindle and time became less precious. It left Spock time to sleep fully. And he did. For nearly three days.

When he woke up he found dozens of messages on his comm. Not truly surprising, but he dutifully reported back to each and every one of them. He thanked the Board for allowing him the days off and promised to be back to work by the next day.

They all seemed to understand, and it made Spock wonder just what exactly they thought he had been doing. From the looks on some of the lesser-ranked men, he figured they must believe that he had been mourning. He didn't feel like correcting them.

Humming a quite tune, he twirled around his kitchen with little care to the fact that all he was wearing was an undershirt and a pair of yoga pants. Bare feet made little sound as he poured himself a cup of water and jumped to sit on the counter.

Squeaky clean, Spock was a happy camper and did his best to ignore the fact that he felt like something that a shuttle had run over.

It worked to a point and Spock was his normal self as he bolted off the counter, through the kitchen, and to his door when a hesitant hand knocked.

His damp, newly cut hair tickled his neck. The new layers made his head feel lighter, and he wondered who it could be as he opened his door.

He was surprised to see the piercing blue eyes of his, hopefully, soon to be captain staring back at him. He blinked as his mask slid smoothly into position and he leaned against the door jam. Kirk looked tired. Maybe he should take some days off. It had done Spock wonders, after all.

"Can I help you?" He asked thoughtfully as he looked down at the shorter man.

"Yes, you can." Kirk answered. He took a step forward and Spock moved to allow him inside. He didn't bother hiding his stare as he watched Kirk look at his apartment. What he saw, Spock didn't know. But soon enough Kirk had turned and was staring at him again.

"You didn't reply."

"Excuse me?" Spock asked, bewildered.

"To the command postings. You haven't answered."

"Ah, you mean to the request you placed in regards to me being the second in command." Spock understood now.

Could it be that Kirk was worried?

"Perhaps you could fill me in on the latest new, Kirk, it seems I have been unreachable for the past days. What has the Board to say over the actions you took on the Enterprise, for example? If they have reached an accord, that is." Spock said smoothly as he walked to his kitchen.

"Something to drink?"

"No, thank you. And about that leave of absence, Spock I think it's time that I apologized." Kirk said as he followed Spock. His hand traveled through his hair in a movement of exhaustion.

Spock stood from his bent position beside his fridge and looked at the man standing in front of him.

"To what would you have to apologize for?" He wondered as he leaned against the counter top, his hand mirroring Kirk's unconsciously.

"On board. The Enterprise. I, well, I know that you loved your mother." Kirk said finally, shifting his feet and looking Spock straight in the eyes with a look of pure regret spelled across his face.

It surprised Spock, and he couldn't help but smile as he shook his head at the goodness that James Kirk seemed to emit from his very soul. He covered his mouth with his hand to try and stop the choked off laugh that came from his chest.

Yes, he remembered the bullshit that Kirk had pulled on the bridge, unknowing that Spock was already fully prepared to step down the captaincy. Kirk had beaten him to the punch, insulting him and insinuating that the elder lost from the cliff had been of relation. Spock's mother in fact. And the thought had been true…to a point.

Elder Savik was a long time mentor to Sybok and had often been found at the Sarek family dinning table. He laughed at Spock's horrible jokes and encouraged Sybok's love of history. He had been a good friend, and it had been hard to loose him. But Savik was not Spock's mother.

And in the face of self-loathing that Kirk had tried so hard to hide as he threw insult after insult at Spock, Spock had quietly taken it and then spoke of his emotional compromise. He gave up the captaincy to Kirk. And Kirk thought it had all been his idea.

Damn, the man really was good.

Opening his eyes, he gave Kirk a wide smile.

"Now, I will thank you for your thoughtfulness and I will tell you the truth. I loved my mother, but she died many, many years ago."

Kirk's open-mouthed sputtering led Spock to stand in silence as Kirk spoke.

"I, I thought that, but you let me, I can't, but you-"

"Let you believe that I was emotionally compromised? But that was the truth and while I have the power to be a Captain, I have no want for such a position."

"You let me have it." Kirk said, groaning as he clapped his hands over his face and slumped with the realization.

"Yes, as I had planned to all along. You just seem to have a bad sense of timing."

"Well, damn."

"Yes."

"But you still haven't answered the postings." Kirk pointed out.

"No, I have not." Spock replied.

"You've been in mourning the past two days." Kirk said in realization.

"I have been sleeping. I may not be human, but even Vulcans need sleep, Kirk." Spock corrected, enjoying the look of disbelief Kirk gave him as he leaned against the wall.

"But-" Kirk said, eyes wide.

"I finished my outpouring of grief about two weeks ago."

"And you've been-goddamnit Spock! You let us all think that you were just bottling?!" Kirk snarled, his fists clenching.

"You all are the ones who were being presumptuous, not I." Spock told him truthfully.

"You said nothing!"

"You didn't ask."

Silence painted the space as Spock's comment sunk in.

"Shit, you're right. We didn't ask. Would you really have answered?" Kirk groaned again in embarrassment.

"Yes."

"Well, damn."

"Damn indeed."

And that was that.

*

Spock stood when Kirk relieved Pike.

*

When asked one, final time, if he would join the Enterprise under the command of one James T. Kirk, he agreed.

*

Reading the padd, Spock quietly sat at his station. His short hair was tucked neatly behind his ears. The bridge was quiet.

With a few taps of his stylus he signed his signature on the line provided and handed the padd back to a waiting ensign.

The silence however, was not to be.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Jim?!" The aggravated voice of one Leonard McCoy was heard as he and the captain stepped from the lift.

Spock held in a sigh and was startled when a hand clapped itself on his shoulder and spun him around to face the chaos.

"Spock! Save me!" Jim's voice boomed in Spock's pointed ear as he hid behind the Vulcans slender frame.

"W-" Spock didn't even get a chance to ask as he flew backwards.

He would find later that McCoy had tripped over Spock's ensign, making him careen forward into Spock's chair.

With such a heavy fall and a very determined captain refusing to let go of his "only salvation" it wasn't very surprising to find the chair tipping…and falling.

Wheezing out a breath from under the weight of the large CMO, Spock wanted to groan aloud. An elbow was in his ribs and a very determined someone was squirming beneath him.

Staring up into the dark eyes of McCoy and feeling Kirk under him made him wonder if perhaps he should have thought more about taking his commission.

He laughed breathlessly at the thought, startling the men above and below him.

Tugging at his tangled limbs, he smiled and tried uselessly to blow his hair out of his eyes.

_Really_, he thought, thoroughly amused.

He wouldn't trade it for the world.

_Fin _


End file.
